Here is Patrica Clemens Repikoff's Mary poem:
MARY OF NAZARETH
I am mystery,
rebel,
mother,
refugee,
a voice crying out compassion
in the face of cruelty,
human misery.
I am Mary of Nazareth,
I sing my reckless trust,
my ache,
confusion.
Mine are the dirges any mother sings
whose child is cut
down too young.
I sing
of dashed dreams
that turned to diamonds.
I was young and hopeful,
the future danced in my eyes!
I always had a wild streak
(some said
I was a rebel),
My head uncovered,
my hair flying,
I ran
through the streets
with friends.
My voice carried
loudest
they said.
I did not always
heed the Law,
or my parents,
or anyone else.
I sometimes spoke
out.
I asked the why of things.
I was silenced.,
but never
for long,
because
a restlessness ran through me.
It seemed I wanted more from life
than most.
The longing wouldn’t go away.
They hoped that Joseph would
tame my restless spirit
with domestic dreams, a family future
I accepted,
but secretly,
I tucked away
my restlessness
in the corner of my heart
far from
the eyes of anyone.
Yet, God spied my hidden treasure, and smiling,
asked if I’d dare bring
that MORE in me to life,
new life,
for all like me
who dream for more than Law.
I swallowed hard, but
I
said
YES!
I surrendered to birth
a bigger dream
than hearts could capture then.
I said YES
to birthing MYSTERY
midst the darkness.
My YES blasted walls
of Law and custom.
It brought talk,
sniping,
pointing fingers,
stones,
as I walked
pregnant with MYSTERY,
God’s dream.
I remember…
that dark night,
NO’S
slamming in my face,
locked doors,
far from family,
my body bursting
I gave birth
to MYSTERY shining
on a bed of straw
midst blood and tears,
beggar’s breath,
shepherd’s sighs.
Yes, I remember…
hot sand, night chills,
running, foreign lands,
fleeing, strange streets,
fugitives, Herod’s cold cruelty.
But, I do remember warmer days,
watching my boy grow.
I saw myself in him.
I wondered who he might become.
I loved his fire,
his integrity, his joy.
And as he grew, I saw
his YES,
His YES to God and
no one else!
I was afraid.
Mother love could not last longer.
He was a young man
with the future in his eyes, and
compassion in his arms!
I let him go.
I let him go into his YES,
into streets,
salons,
and synagogues,
open arms of prostitutes and beggars, and
Into the slippery hands of hypocrites!
I am a martyr’s mother.
I let him go into his YES.
I let him go into God’s arms.
GOD’S ARMS BECAME A CROSS!
And my YES
hung limp
on the tree—
a last
lifeless
leaf.
I cried all martyrs’ mothers’ tears.
I wailed the death of dreams and hoping.
I moaned my flesh and blood
martyr-child snatched
too young
from the nest!
WHERE ARE YOU NOW GOD?
WHO ARE YOU
TO LET GO OF
YOUR PEARL
SO EASILY?
WHAT KIND OF CRUEL GOD
ARE YOU
THAT SNUFFS OUT
YOUR OWN DREAM?
HE GAVE YOU EVERYTHING,
YOU GAVE HIM DEATH!
SCORPIONS!
SNAKES!
YOU GAVE US STONES, NOT BREAD!
But, I remember…
how there was new
breath
and wind
and blessing.
how God
breathed
into our empty.
Death couldn’t hide,
Death couldn’t hold our YES!
YES! there was breath
and bread
and blessing!
YES! An empty tomb! YES!
bread broken and blessed on a road! YES!
ARMS OPENED
AND HEARTS BURNING
WITHIN US! YES!
There is breath
and wind
and blessing! YES!
He lives!
among us!
I birthed a bigger dream
more than our hearts
could contain,
more truth than death’s arms could bear!
Dreams lie waiting hidden
in you hearts to be born again
carried to all who long like us for MORE.
My sisters, my brothers,
carry them, bear them.
Bring them to YES!
Bring them to birth
midst the darkness!
By Patricia Clemens Repikoff
From DASHED DREAMS AND DIAMOND
